


State Secrets

by Laylah



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist
Genre: F/M, Tentacles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-13
Updated: 2009-11-13
Packaged: 2017-10-02 14:42:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laylah/pseuds/Laylah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The...appendage wrapped around his hand and his pistol is cool, wet, pulsing faintly. "There's only one answer I can make to that, Miss Douglas."</p>
            </blockquote>





	State Secrets

"Are you certain there's no way I could see him?" Archer asks, trying to keep the frustration from his voice. In ordinary circumstances, Douglas would be able to handle any of his concerns; her position carries little official power, but anyone who deals with the Fuhrer's office knows how much she's capable of arranging.

She smiles faintly, politely -- the look of someone for whom the expression is a formality, not an emotional response. "I'm so sorry, Lieutenant Colonel," she says. "May I ask what this is in regards to? Perhaps I can help you."

Archer hesitates. "It's -- it concerns the incident at the Fifth Laboratory."

"I see." Her expression doesn't waver; he's never met anyone so difficult to read. "The official investigation into that matter has been closed."

If it weren't treason to say so, Archer might suggest that his predecessor's death was the means of closing the case; but rash allegations will only ruin his career if he's wrong, and cause him to follow in Hughes's footsteps if he's right. "I have an eyewitness in custody," he says instead.

That seems to make her focus on him a bit more clearly. "One of the experimental subjects?" she asks, and Archer admires her candor in admitting their existence so unapologetically.

"Almost. He would have been one, on the night of the incident, had the actions of the experimenters not been interrupted." No need, yet, to point out that Kimberly had _caused_ the interruption himself.

Douglas nods, making a brief note on the pad in front of her. "And you believe he would be a credible witness? It is my understanding that the lab procured its subjects from among the condemned men in Second Prison. For a chance to be pardoned, surely such a criminal would say whatever his interrogator wished to hear."

"Were he an ordinary prisoner, yes," Archer agrees. "But he was a State Alchemist, and the technical information which he provided alone adds immeasurably to our understanding of what happened in the laboratory that night." He wets his lips nervously; Douglas has stopped writing, which may be the most reaction he's ever seen from her. "And that doesn't even take into account the rest of his testimony. He, ah, has corroborated the Fullmetal Alchemist's reports of superhuman beings in the lab. Not only human-animal chimeras, but also near-immortal beings with remarkable powers, which called themselves homunculi." Archer places his report on Douglas's desk. "This is a threat that we cannot afford to ignore."

Douglas smiles, and doesn't touch the report. "But we have not ignored it. The threat to our nation's stability was already eliminated, when your forces neutralized Greed." She stands, her heels clicking as she walks around the desk toward him, and looks up slightly to meet his eyes. "The rest of us are nothing for you to worry about."

Archer takes a sharp breath -- she can't mean what he thinks she does -- and then Douglas dissolves into a writhing column of liquid. He reaches for his pistol instinctively, and she reforms, one fluid arm coiling around his gun hand as the rest of her solidifies into a human shape again, this time dressed in black with the white skin and slitted purple eyes that Kimberly described. The red oroborous mark graces her breast.

"Your predecessor was investigating things that would have been detrimental to our nation's health," she says, as calmly as though she's reporting on the weather. "Given the choice between exposing the scandal of homunculi in the government, and preserving the strength of our nation's military, what would you do, Lieutenant Colonel?"

His heart pounds. The...appendage wrapped around his hand and his pistol is cool, wet, pulsing faintly. "There's only one answer I can make to that, Miss Douglas." He makes himself meet her strange eyes. "When I became an officer, I swore an oath to work for the honor and glory of the Amestrian nation and its military. Amestris has prospered under the current leadership. If that is due in part to the efforts of," he pauses, trying to choose his words carefully, "superhuman allies in strategic positions -- then I can hardly complain."

She glides closer, almost touching, looking up into his eyes. In a human woman, the position would be intimate. "There are those who would claim that the current administration is too warlike."

Archer snorts dismissively. "Military victories consolidate the power of the state."

"All our officers should be as reasonable as you," she smiles. The not-hand constricting his squeezes gently. "Tell me more about your witness. Will he be as cooperative?"

Archer imagines Kimberly learning what he just has. It's not a pretty picture. "Not if he knew." No; Kimberly would get violent, and then these...creatures would kill him. "But I see no reason to tell him."

Douglas blinks slowly, still smiling that lazy smile. "He's a loose end. That could be troublesome."

"I...." Archer feels a little shiver run down his spine as he remembers watching Kimberly at Southern Headquarters, remembers the way the explosions resonated in his bones. "I believe he could be useful. I had -- I had hoped that Fuhrer Bradley would be willing to pardon him, in exchange for his testimony. Now...." He smiles ruefully. "Well, perhaps in exchange for his silence."

"And what does he do, that would make it worth preserving him?" Douglas asks. Her tone is pitched low and coaxing, like a lover's -- as though Archer needs encouragement to talk about this, of all things.

"He is...the most willing and capable combat alchemist I've ever seen." Douglas makes a soft, hungry noise, and Archer's heart beats a little faster; human or no, she acts like she _understands_, and the tension in the room is electric. "He's a living, breathing weapon."

"The Crimson Alchemist," she says, and he nods. She looks as though she knows exactly what it would mean to him, to have that power at his disposal. Something cool and wet caresses the inside of his trapped wrist, and she continues in that seductive tone, "I can arrange to have him pardoned for you. If I'm convinced of your loyalty."

Archer reaches out and cradles the back of her neck with his free hand so he can pull her close, so he can kiss her. Her lips part easily, immediately, and her tongue slips into his mouth -- and then he feels it changing, expanding, writhing as it turns into something utterly inhuman. He tenses, fighting panic, but her eyes are open, watching him, and he refuses to fail this test -- not when he could have a creature like this as an ally. So he closes his eyes and does his best to relax, to let her take his mouth.

The invasiveness of it is strange, unlike anything he's experienced before, but it's -- it's not bad, exactly, just decadent and unnervingly sensual. This _can_ be pleasurable, if he allows it. He sucks experimentally, and she presses closer to him with a soft noise of pleasure. Her free hand slips between them, working open the buttons of his trousers, the friction coaxing him fully erect. When she wraps cool fingers around his cock, he moans around the invasion of his mouth. He thrusts into her hand, fingers tightening in the back of her dress, and opens his eyes.

Douglas has pulled back to watch him, several inches of glistening, undulating _tentacle_ extending from her mouth to his and pulsing against his tongue. His erection falters.

She withdraws from his mouth. "You don't want this?" she asks, sounding faintly amused.

"I want this," Archer says immediately. "I want you." He hesitates, but she's not like any woman he's known -- not even human. Soulless, if Kimberly's to be believed. She should appreciate the honesty. "I want your power."

She smiles. "I appreciate your candor, Lieutenant Colonel," she says. She hasn't stopped stroking him. "I want your allegiance."

"You have it," he promises. When her mouth opens again and that fluid tentacle extends toward him, he doesn't flinch or close his eyes, just lets his lips part as she caresses his jaw, lets her slide it in and slowly stroke his tongue.

She releases his cock and takes a grip on his shirtfront instead. He lets her push him down onto the floor, onto his back, and rocks his hips up to feel her pressed against his cock. The friction is helping, making him hard again as they move together. She pulls his right hand up above his head; he lets go of his pistol, lets it fall to the carpet with a soft thunk. The act of surrender prompts a little hungry noise from her, a slithering, sliding motion of her thighs -- and he _did_ just pledge his loyalty to her, after all.

Archer brings his left hand up to join his right, crossing his wrists, watching her face. Her cold eyes dilate with pleasure momentarily, and then the tentacle that should have been her arm coils tight around both his wrists, and the one that should have been her tongue thrusts deeper into his mouth.

He chokes, struggling to throw her off, afraid he's made a grave miscalculation, but Douglas is implacable, moving with him easily. Only when he gives up and slumps against the floor does she relent, drawing back enough that her use of his mouth is more caress than violation.

She makes a soft, low purring noise and shifts her weight on top of him, and Archer realizes with a certain degree of alarm that he stayed hard while she was choking him. Then she shifts again, and he feels bare, slick flesh against his cock, and he doesn't care. He arches his back and thrusts, and she moves with him, taking him in. She's not as warm as she should be, not quite, just different enough to be one more reminder of her inhumanity, but then she does something that makes the -- what? musculature? fluids? -- surrounding his cock ripple, and the caress is so exquisite that he moans aloud.

When he opens his eyes, there's a flush to Douglas's cheeks and her eyes are half-lidded with pleasure. It shouldn't surprise him -- Kimberly's terse reports made it clear that Greed was human enough to experience sexual arousal -- but it's still strangely gratifying, the knowledge that this creature wants him, finds him desirable. It's power, of a sort, the ability to make her feel like this. He thrusts up into her, and her eyelids flutter; he sucks on the tentacle in his mouth, and she moans. Her other arm liquefies, drifting backward, snaking wetly into his opened trousers. The new tentacle strokes his balls teasingly before pushing further back, between his legs, probing --

Archer's eyes widen, and he makes an involuntary shocked noise the first time she touches his asshole. Douglas just hums in contentment, or perhaps anticipation, and when he flinches away from the touch, she wraps her -- her -- well, they _used_ to be her legs, he supposes, the sinuous limbs wrapped around his now, holding him spread enough for her to explore.

And he lost his chance to protest long before this, if he ever had one to begin with -- so he forces himself to stop fighting her, tries to relax and give her the surrender that she seems to crave. It's horrifying when he feels the first slick stretch and press of the tentacle penetrating him, squirming in deep, touching him with a grotesque intimacy -- but she moans in what sounds like gratitude, and her rhythmic contractions around his cock are a welcome distraction.

There's barely anything human left of Douglas now, her limbs wrapped around him half-liquid and pulsing as the tentacle that penetrates him begins to thrust. Archer closes his eyes, trying to coax more shivers, more moans, from her with his mouth. This is both violently sensual and almost entirely unlike sex, too much sensitivity in places he doesn't expect -- she's practically made an erogenous zone of his lips and tongue, the tissue swollen and sensitive as she fills his mouth repeatedly.

And now it feels like she's going to do the same thing with the tentacle fucking his ass. It's growing thicker as it thrusts, stretching him open further, slippery and insistent. It's too visceral, too intense, for him to deny, but the strangeness itself is erotic, or _can_ be erotic, if he lets it. Archer rocks his hips, encouraging her, and that changes the pressure somehow, makes it both more invasive and more pleasurable, makes the violation feel like a kind of obscene luxury. It's _adding_ to the pleasure of fucking her now, instead of balancing it with horror, and Archer moans as he writhes under her.

Douglas moans back, draped over him, coiled around him, squirming inside him, fluid and strong and overwhelming. She's going to make him come like this, pinned and filled and _surrendering_ to the sheer excess of sensation, to the impossibility of being so thoroughly stimulated, so invasively caressed -- he can feel it building, every stroke and thrust and flex driving him closer, his breath coming fast and desperate as she _takes_ him, and then he can't hold out any longer, and he's never felt anything like this, like the exquisite, horrific pleasure of the homunculus's touch as he shudders through climax in her embrace.

She withdraws slowly, unnatural appendages stroking his sensitized skin almost fondly as she retreats. He wonders if she came, wonders if she even feels pleasure as mundane as orgasm in a form so alien.

"I must say I'm impressed, Lieutenant Colonel," Douglas says with a smile, once she is human enough to speak. "Most men aren't nearly so accommodating."

"My pleasure," Archer says. He shifts, trying not to wince at how stretched and sore and slicked he feels. "I count myself lucky to have made such an alliance." She trails her fingertips down the side of his face, so he turns his head and kisses the palm of her hand. "I trust I may count on your assistance in pleading my case."

If she thinks him too demanding, she makes no sign of it. "The Crimson Alchemist will be pardoned," she says smoothly, "and reinstated under your command. You will be placed in charge of any future investigation of the Fifth Laboratory incident, and you will report directly to me or to the Fuhrer any findings, your own or others', that might endanger the stability of the current administration."

Archer nods to cover his surprise. Either the Fuhrer is human and knows what Douglas is, or he's another homunculus himself. In either case, the fact that Archer has been entrusted with this information is...sobering. "Thank you," he says. "I will not let you down."

Douglas rises, spiraling into a vortex of fluid and re-forming in her demure and proper human shape. "I expect this partnership to benefit us both." She watches impassively as he sits up and takes stock of his sodden and disheveled uniform. "Might I suggest, Lieutenant Colonel, that you take the rest of the afternoon off?"

Archer laughs weakly as he gets to his feet. "Thank you, Miss Douglas. I believe I shall. Good day." He bows, proud that he's only slightly awkward despite the soreness and exhaustion, and lets himself out.

* * *

**drabble omake**:

There are roses on her desk when Sloth arrives in the morning. She blinks once in slow surprise; Pride sends her flowers on occasion, but only when there's good reason, and never something as extravagant as a full dozen longstem roses.

There's a note attached, she discovers:

_Miss Douglas - _

_Thank you for your assistance with my investigation yesterday. Your aid was invaluable, and I am in your debt. _

_Yours,  
Lt. Col. Frank Archer_

She folds the note with a little smile and tucks it away in her desk. How utterly _charming_ of him. Perhaps she'll have to have him promoted.


End file.
